


Tell Me a Story, Tiny Varric

by meyghasa



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meyghasa/pseuds/meyghasa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: "Write anything about anything anyway you want—as long as it includes the following. “Tell me a story, tiny Varric.” Bonus points for involving whipped cream as a battle implement."</p><p>Only I misread the prompt, so I’m changing whipped cream to shaving cream and you can’t stop me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me a Story, Tiny Varric

Hawke was drunk enough that she was swaying back and forth in her chair, but the ale kept coming. Varric knew that tonight she needed it to keep the specter of her reanimated mother out of her mind, so he kept the barkeep’s pockets heavy and considered himself lucky that the broody elf and Aveline were there to carry Hawke home at the end of it.

The group had done its best to avoid the subject of Hawke’s mother. Even Blondie had abstained from his typical mage freedom tirades, though Varric suspected that an overheard snippet of hissed conversation between him and Aveline - “Now is neither the time nor the place, Anders” - had something to do with that. They had tried a few games of Diamondback, but Hawke had first lost all the coin she had on her and then waved her daggers threateningly, and drunkenly, at her companions when they subsequently let her win. Diamondback was deemed a lost cause after that.

  
Varric was getting worried. The silent way Hawke was staring into her mug, holding it with two hands as if it was going to sneak away, was as troubling as the way her lips were pressing into a thinner and thinner line. He was about to try something desperate when Daisy, sweet, blessed Daisy, saved the day.

“Tell us a story, Varric,” Merrill said.

Hawke looked up, those vibrant blue eyes squinting as she tried to focus. “Yeah,” she said, drawing out her words with effort. “Tell me a story, tiny Varric.”

Tiny! This time, he would let it slide, he decided. That didn’t stop him from making a mental note for the future.

“Let’s see. Did I ever tell you the story of the first time I was attacked in the safety of my own quarters here? No? Well, then. You see,” Varric began, steepling his fingers in front of his chin, “The Hanged Man wasn’t always the paragon of taverns it is today. Once upon a time it was a dive run rampant with crime and strife. The ale was also considerably worse.”

“I’m not entirely sure such a thing is possible,” Fenris interjected. He was ignored.

“This was back when Bartrand and I — mostly just I — were trying to smooth things over in the Dwarven Merchants Guild. My big brother has always had a penchant for pissing off precisely the right people. Back then we didn’t have enough coin to grease the right palms, and my charm could only do so much.”

Isabela gasped, raising a hand to her mouth. “Impossible!”

“Hard to believe, I know. But it’s true,” Varric continued with a melancholy sigh. “One memorable morning I was in my room up the stairs, preparing for the age-old rite of removing my dwarven honor. There I stood before the warped glass I used for a mirror, my chin slathered in shaving cream and a straightedge razor in my hand, when all of a sudden, boom! My door slammed open and four big, burly giants of thugs burst into the room.”

Varric glanced at his audience, mentally smirking at the way Daisy was perched on the edge of her seat, before continuing. “I learned a long, long time ago never to keep Bianca far from my reach. I also don’t like getting her dirty with such things as shaving cream. It would be a crime to besmirch her like that.” One hand came up to lovingly caress the crossbow’s stock for a few moments.

Aveline rolled her eyes. “ _Varric._ ”

“Ah, right. There I stood, Bianca a good few feet away, the first of the lumbering men making his move right towards me! I knew I had to distract him just long enough to let me get to Bianca, and she would do the rest. So I did the first thing that came to mind: I swiped a hand through the mess of shaving cream still on my chin and chucked it right in his eyes.”

“Wh—” Hawke began, but Varric didn’t miss a beat.

“‘Augh! My eyes! You little bastard, my eyes!’ he shouted, not very eloquently,” Varric continued. “He stumbled a bit as he tried to clear his vision, and it was just long enough. The sound of Bianca’s trigger going off four times in succession was music to my ears. One, two, three, four, they fell to the floor one after the other. My safety assured, I went back to my shave. But that wasn’t the worst part, not by a long stretch.” He paused, meeting each of their gazes in turn.

“What was the worst part?” Merrill squeaked, both eyes wide in horror.

Varric kept silent just a moment more, bringing a hand up to cover his heart as his expression turned to one of mourning. “I had to spend the rest of the morning polishing the shaving cream stains off of Bianca. Such a damn shame!”


End file.
